


One Nil

by karanguni



Series: Nasdack [10]
Category: FFVII, FFXII
Genre: Stockmarket AU, Team Spirit, real world AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-18
Updated: 2010-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karanguni/pseuds/karanguni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FIFA World Cup 2010.  Balthier's watching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Nil

**Author's Note:**

> 860 words of the best Nasdack I have ever written, no lie.

At 7 in the morning, Tseng's phone rings, and because he has to get out of bed and pad into another room to receive the call it takes him 4 rings before he hits answer.

'What the bloody hell is wrong with you,' is the first thing Balthier says to him, irate. 'It's 7 in the morning, shouldn't you have been up with the birds?'

'Balthier,' Tseng says.

'Oh, yes.' Balthier's voice takes on a very snide tone. 'Say no more, we mustn't disturb his beauty sleep. Get over here. You have half an hour.'

Tseng presses fingers to he bridge of his nose, but it's a momentary point of weakness. He's already reaching for a proper shirt. 'Where, Balthier, is "here"?'

'The Hilton,' Balthier says. 'I've got three carts worth of room service.'

Tseng sighs. 'Give me twenty minutes,' he says, and puts down the phone.

-

'What are they doing -' Balthier growls. 'What are they doing?' He turns to Tseng, who might as well be an oracle when it comes to anything financial, so shouldn't he -- 'What?'

Tseng ignores him and concentrates on his food. Balthier knows him well: there's pulped orange juice, eggs, well-done scones, and real butter ("Of course it's real, you prat; as if you've never spent thousands of dollars on a hotel room before.") and a carafe of good coffee on the side, black as the night. Balthier's anxious and fidgety beside him on the bed, sitting with his legs crossed and his shoes still on. All Tseng says is a very reassuring, 'I'm not staying past ten.'

'I'll tie you to the bed,' Balthier says, eyes fixed.

'I prefer my bondage flavoured otherwise,' Tseng says with magnanimity, buttering a scone.

'I'll handcuff you the bed,' Balthier says, and a sidewards glance makes Tseng wonder if he's really seeing the whites of Balthier's eyes, the fear there, and the tension.

'You'll do all right without me,' Tseng tells him.

'I'm in America,' Balthier says, desperate and hollow as the third - third? - card is called. 'I'm nothing without you.'

'Touching,' Tseng says, and pours himself a cup of coffee.

-

'Where,' Rufus grinds out, 'is Balthier?'

'Why ask me.' Tseng's typing something out (when is he never?) and paying no attention to Rufus' demands, which Rufus doesn't particularly appreciate at eleven in the morning when he has a meeting in half an hour with an engineering firm he didn't know existed until around an hour before. 'You know better than to ask me.'

'Your phone has been going off every fifteen minutes since you got to the office,' Rufus points out.

'I,' Tseng says, 'am a very busy man, and you've known this for a very long time.'

'No one who would call you every fifteen minutes,' Rufus says slowly, 'knows that number.'

'Ah,' Tseng says, simply, and goes on typing.

'Where is he Tseng.'

-

'YOU BLOODY FUCKING BISON HERDER,' Balthier yells.

His phone rings. He picks up in a flourish of rage. 'What?' he spits at Tseng. 'You call me now? Would you like to know what's going on?'

'Don't throw the carafe at the television,' Tseng advises him. 'Also, Rufus is livid.'

'I assure you,' Balthier snarls. 'I'm angrier.'

'No,' Tseng says whimsically. 'You're just European.'

-

'Boss,' Reno pleads. 'Just pick up.'

The phone's been blaring and blaring and blaring and blaring and blaring --

Tseng says, 'No.'

'Why,' Reno asks, strangled. 'The Prez is going crazy, Balthier's been Facebooking me demanding to know where you are, please boss. I don't know what's going on but it's nothing that cigarettes, lube and condoms can't fix, right? Right?' He's so afraid he's almost hysterical.

'You wouldn't understand,' Tseng says.

'I have an MBA!' Reno moans. 'I understand many things!'

'Not this,' Tseng says. 'This country doesn't understand.'

'This country?' Reno snaps up. 'Is this political now? Is that what's going on? Is he going to be deported?'

'Ask the Gray Lady,' Tseng says. 'Or the Onion,' and then goes on coffee break to Starbucks, where the noise and crowd and commercial Americanness will drown everything out.

-

IT IS TWO THIRTY PM, Rufus' enraged text message reads. WHAT IS GOING ON. WE HAD AN AGREEMENT MADE MONTHS AGO THAT THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN AND HE STANDS ME UP.

It's not personal, Tseng replies. It's imperial.

-

'YOU BLOODY, FUCKING USELESS INBRED SHEEP,' Balthier roars. 'HER MAJESTY WOULD BE ASHAMED.'

-

'Oh,' Reno says the next day, after Rufus breathed fire and Tseng stayed neutral and Balthier flung a carafe at the unwitting chambermaid who'd walked in during penalty time. The New York Times is reporting USA BEATS SLOVENIA 2-0 with a gloating subtitle ENGLAND THRASHED 3-1 BY ALGERIA. 'That's it?'

Balthier upends Reno's desk and buys himself a lunch for one.

-

 

'This -- soccer?' Rufus says, completely bewildered.

'Football,' Tseng corrects him, 'where Balthier's from.'

'I don't get it.'

'Funny,' Tseng mumbles. 'You of all people should know something about changing tides.'

-

'It shouldn't,' Balthier says to Tseng with the lights off and the Hilton appeased by Rufus' credit card. 'Affect me.'

Tseng's hand is warm on the back of Balthier's neck.


End file.
